


Four Nights of Honey

by Keller_Bloom



Category: The Lord of the Rings (Movies), The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Blood and Injury, Chains, F/M, No Sex, No Smut, One-Sided Attraction, Unrequited Love, whomp
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-29
Updated: 2020-08-01
Packaged: 2021-03-06 04:15:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,563
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25597135
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Keller_Bloom/pseuds/Keller_Bloom
Summary: After Saruman's influence has been lifted from the King, Grima Wormtongue has been captured and detained deep in the dungeons of Edoras.The King wants to know what Saruman's plans are, and encourages his men to use whatever force necessary to extract what Grima knows of the plot against the world of men.Eowyn suggests her own plan to lure the snake into spilling his secrets.
Relationships: Éowyn/Gríma Wormtongue
Comments: 5
Kudos: 22





	1. Night One

Grima Wormtongue had been dragged howling to the dungeons of Edoras. His hollow pleas to the King still rang in the halls and corridors of the palace like some pitiful spirit. Eowyn closed her eyes at the sound. The King was recovered and she was overjoyed. Saruman had been leeched from her beloved uncle at last, and her heart grew strong again at the thought that her brother and his men may return to the capital. She felt no pity at all for the snake that had been dragged away. He was implicit in the plan to destroy the King and deserved all that was coming to him. The men had been instructed to extract every piece of information that he knew of Saruman’s plan by whatever means necessary. From the sound of the Grey Wizard’s warning, they needed every scrap of information they could, and fast.

Eowyn had the heart of a warrior. She was willing to fight and die to protect her home and her family. However, her uncle seemed more hesitant and less believing of the gravity of the news that their visitors had brought. She felt frustrated but that was nothing new. Her whole life had been spent dreaming of valor whilst being forced into a cage of meekness and passivity.

That evening the men returned to the throne room to report to the King. Their knuckles were bloody and they looked exhausted. The King had looked up expectantly before realizing that Eowyn was still present. He was contemplating sending her away. Ladies should not hear of the horrors than men must resort to extract information from those that are guilty. She caught his gaze, her eyes begged him not to send her away and he relented before the words had even formed on his lips.

“What news?” Theoden asked expectantly.

The men looked sheepish, “He claims he knows nothing, my Lord.”

“The lies!” the King spat.

“We worked him hard my Lord, but he told us nothing.”

“That damnable snake!” Theoden cried, “He would see us all burn to ashes. Work him harder. Work him till he has no breath left to scream!”

The King shook with anger and he looked tired. He shoulders stooped from the weariness of the White Wizard’s poison and the guilt he felt at letting himself become so blinded. Eowyn could see all of this clearly.

She took his hand, “Let me go to him.” She said, “He will talk to me.”

“No.” said the King, his voice hoarse.

“There is only one thing that we know he wants,” she stated evenly, “if I show him some kindness then perhaps he will speak.”

The King shook his head, but she went on. “My Liege, isn’t it worth trying? I will be in no danger and it may help to save our people.”

Seeing that she would take no refusal, a tired Theoden reluctantly relented.

***

The worm had been kept in the crypts beneath the Great Hall. It was pitch black and cold down there and the smell of damp earth filled the twisting passages. Eowyn carried an oil lamp which lit the way. She had tied her hair back in case he lunged at her and she was grateful that she had thought to bring her shawl as the cold still air cut through her long skirts. Her skin still shuddered with what she intended to do. How could she be kind to the snake? Just the sight of him made her sick. His pale sallow skin had dogged her steps for months now and the sound of his voice made her want to wretch. Those silky poisoned words that slipped so easily from his accursed tongue plagued her thoughts at night. The snake had always spoken truths to her, exposing and cold truths. They were penetrating and perceptive and they made her want to reach her fingers into that mouth of his and wrench out his forked tongue with her bare hands.

The guard unlocked the door of the last cell. It was in the deepest and coldest part of the dungeon and reminded Eowyn more of a tomb than a cell. A tomb not unlike her cousin Theodred’s, and the worm had been instrumental in his death she was certain.

“I will wait for you just outside the door my Lady.”

“He is bound is he not?” she asked.

The guard nodded but replied, “Even so,” as he wrenched the door open. It squealed loudly on its hinges.

Moving in cautiously she could not see Wormtongue immediately in the oppressive dark, it took a moment for her eyes to adjust to the dim yellow light of the lamp in her hand. She found him soon enough, hands bound behind his back and laying in a fetal position on his side. His bonds were attached by a chain which was secured to the wall. He had been stripped of his thick woolen outer layers. She could see them dimly in another corner of the cell, curled up in a heap like a sleeping dog. They were out of his reach, the chain prevented him from moving more than a foot in any direction. He shivered on the floor. His thin shirt was torn open to his chest and his feet were bare. As she approached him she could see that the pale skin of his chest was bruised and his white shirt was stained with blood. He winced against the light and looked up. He stared at her as though she was a dream. He tried to sit up but found he could not. She watched his struggle unblinkingly and with no pity in her eyes.

“So,” he rasped through a voice hoarse from screaming, “they have sent you to break me.” 

She stood as tall and solid as a statue, and just as cold. “As perceptive as ever I see Grima.”

Something flickered in his expression as his name passed her lips, though it might have simply been a shadow from the glimmering light in her hand. She set it down close to him but still out of his reach. Kneeling she forced her hands to reach for him, suppressing the shudder of revulsion she felt. As her hand came forward she saw him flinch away from her, fearing some new blow to the face or body. This created a small chink in her armor, she realized that somewhere deep inside she did feel a small amount of pity for him. Bracing herself against the cold flagstones (which felt like kneeling on ice) she hoisted him upwards to sit him upright. The effort had obviously hurt him, though he made no other noise than a sharp hissing intake of breath as she had pushed him up. She removed a water skin from over her shoulder and began to open it. His dark eyes, framed with newly forming bruises, watched her every move. His greasy black hair hung in front of him and with a shudder of revulsion that she could not suppress she touched it and tucked it away from his face.

“Drink.” She said briskly, holding the water towards him.

“I see,” he murmured and did not move to take a drink, “very ingenious. Those thugs have given me my vinegar and now you will feed me my honey. Sweet and soothing my Lady coos into my ear and eases the pain away and, soon enough, out spill my secrets. Prized from my lips as easily as a harlot would open her thighs.”

Eowyn stood in disgust and backed away from him.

“I am not your lady and never will be worm,” she spat.

Stooping to pick up the lamp, she stalked back to the cell door.

From the dark his weak voice pleaded, “No, please stay.”

She knew then that she had won. Placing the lamp down she paced over to his pile of clothes and retrieved his thick woolen robe. She threw it at him without a word before calling to the guard to let her out.

She explained all to the King when she returned.

“He was suspicious, but in the end, he asked me to stay. Perhaps after some more persuasion tomorrow he will be more willing to speak to me.”

Theoden had looked tired but agreed to her plan.


	2. Night Two

The next night Eowyn was better prepared. Overjoyed to be useful to her Uncle, she had thought all day about what she might say to prize the truth from the worm’s mouth. Occasionally she spared a thought for what he might be suffering as each hour passed to soften up than tongue.

‘ _The ends justify the means_.’ She thought to herself. But there was a stab of guilt and regret at the knowledge that this was being done under her suggestion.

As night crept in she hurried down to the crypt. The same guard greeted her and she handed him a flagon of ale knowing how little the men relished the prison nightshift. He took it eagerly and let her into the cell.

She found Grima laying very much as he had been the night before, only now his nose was broken. Blood had begun to dry on his upper lip and across his face in the direction he lay. He flinched again at the light as though it had struck another blow to his face.

“Back again my Lady?” he croaked, though his voice had lost all of its usual sardonic qualities. It was a flat question, almost unbelieving.

“I have duties to attend to.” She replied, bending again to help him sit.

Once he was upright she knelt before him in the pool of yellow light and examined his face. His pale skin seemed to show every blow. It was white like parchment and his ordeal was written in black and red ink. Here a kick, there a punch, here fingers around his throat and there fingernails had raked deep scratches across his eyes. Her own eyes stung at the thought of it.

She reached for her bag of supplies and wet a rag. She dabbed gingerly at the blood on his face and began to slowly clean it away. His breath hitched in pain, but apart from that he said nothing. He watched her reverently, never taking his eyes from her face.

Eowyn found that her skin crawled less that night, she presumed it was because she had mentally prepared herself better for the task at hand.

Beneath the mess she found his bottom lip was split and swollen. His face was littered with purple marks from yesterday and red ones from today. His nose was crooked and swollen and he would have black eyes tomorrow. Her hand stilled for a moment as she gazed upon it. An emotion that might have been sympathy gnawed at her eyes again, but she quickly blinked it away. There was no place for sympathy here.

“Have they fed you?” she asked and busied her hands with packing away the rag and adjusting her shawl to keep out the chill of the cell.

He shook his head.

“I will bring some tomorrow.” She stated and lifted the flask to his lips. “Drink.” She instructed and he did as she bid.

His bound hands made it difficult for him and he choked several times on the water. He winced as the movement heaved his ribs, but after a moment the drink seemed to fortify him and at last he spoke again.

“There will be a tomorrow then?”

Despite his awareness of the scheme he has succumbed to it all the same.

“I will come every night, and those men will come to you every day and administer this barbary until you tell the King what he wants to know. Why do you persist in refusing to answer his questions? I see the pain you are in.”

“Tell me Lady, what will your Uncle do with me once my secrets are spent? I see in your face what the answer is. He would leave me down here to rot or else put me to the sword.”

Prepared for this she replied, “I could petition him to let you free to fight alongside him. If there is a war to come then Rohan will need…”

“Oh, war is coming my Lady. One without end or hope for victory for the world of men. Your petition would be another death sentence.”

“One with valor at least.” She bristled.

He snorted, “Valor? Only a fool thinks of valor in the face of certain death.”

“Only a coward would mock.” She snapped.

Leaning his head against the wall of the cell he studied her again. “You think me a coward for fearing death? You, I suppose, my warrior queen, fear neither death nor pain?”

“I am no coward.” She replied.

“We shall see. When you face a slashing blow from an Orcish blade I hope you will think of me in that final moment. Consider if in that moment, when your life is spent and you know that you will see no new sunrise from the East, whether you feel valor or fear. I suspect I know the answer.”

“You know nothing snake.”

He stifled his laugh once he felt the pain in his ribs that it caused, “You don’t know how true that is.” He wheezed.

To Eowyn he suddenly looked very tired. She admonished herself. She had not meant to lose her head and provoke him. She was supposed to be coaxing the truth out of him, to be his sympathetic ear not a further antagonist. With some effort she suppressed her fire, crushing it down into a cage of ice as she did everyday when decorum dictated that she must stay silent and meek.

“You’re cold,” she muttered, “I will find your robe.”

She stood away from him, leaving him in the dim yellow light alone for a moment as she searched in the gloom. It was gone. The guards must have taken it. Eowyn stifled a sigh as she returned to him.

“Lean forward.” She commanded, as he did she draped her own shawl around his shoulders. He shuddered under its sudden warmth and lay his head back against the wall once again. His speech from before had aggravated his split lip and she leaned forward without thinking to dab the blood away from his mouth with her sleeve.

He moved his head away from her hand hissing, “No, leave it. I cannot abide this false simpering kindness from you. Tell me how you despise me.”

“I do. I do despise you. You betrayed your own people when you sold the King to Saruman.”

His eyes closed and he smiled. “The reward for my service would have been worth it.”

Eowyn looked away. It was growing late and once again she was getting nowhere. The King would be angry.

“Tell me what Saruman is planning Grima.” She demanded, settling in desperation on the direct approach.

His eyes remained closed and when he spoke his voice was thick with weariness. “I will tell you all I know tomorrow.”

She stood, angry and tired to the bone. She was sick of his games. She was chilled to her very heart by this accursed place.

“No.” she barked, “Now.”

His breathing was deeper and his head lolled to one side. “My Lady, I am tired, so tired.”

Her anger boiled over and she lashed out with her words. “Tomorrow those men will come again, they will give you new bruises to add to your current pains. Do you really think you can stand much more of this? They will beat you until their arms ache, do you understand?”

He nodded slowly, “Tomorrow,” he mumbled.

Infuriated, she turned and stormed to the door. “Do not believe,” she said through gritted teeth, “that you will eat before you tell me what I want to know. You will have to sing for your supper worm.”

Hammering on the wood the guard swiftly let her out and she raged all the way back to the Great Hall.

In the dark, Grima felt the warmth of her body that still clung to the shawl. He drifted off into an uncomfortable sleep with her scent wrapped all around him.


	3. Night Three

The King had not been pleased.

News of Urak-hai attacks on outlying villages had begun to trickle through, and with Éomer and his men still banished the city was poorly defended. She saw how these worries wore heavily on her uncle. He felt immense guilt at the ease in which he has succumbed to Saruman’s magic. He had no patience for her experiment nor the traitorous worm who seemed to be antagonizing him still through his silence.

He had wanted to execute Grima that night, but she had begged him to still his hand for just a little longer. Eventually he relented. He had barked at his men to make sure the man would talk and to pull no punches. They had agreed wearily, even they did not seem to relish a third day of beatings.

Eowyn had hurried to the entrance of the crypt even before the sun had fallen. Grima would talk today and she had no time to lose. She wanted to prove to the King that she could be useful, and this could be her chance to show him that she could be more than just a burden to be protected. She could be a warrior too.

As she hurried down the dank tunnel, her lamp swinging in her hand, she heard cries from the end of the corridor. She paused in the gloom and listened. Clearly she was earlier than expected and the men had not yet completed their daily duties. Grima’s screams lit the dark with their colourful anguish. She’d never before heard a man scream in pain, it shocked her, frightened her to her very soul. She closed her eyes against the sound it was so ghastly, but she could not shut it out. To her surprise, her eyes brimmed with tears at the sound. The noises he made seemed unnatural. No creature should be allowed to suffer in that way, not even a snake like Wormtongue.

A particularly vicious sounding crack led to an unholy howl from Grima, and she propelled herself through the door yelling at the men to stop. They all had looked around surprised.

The room was lit by several lanterns strew around the cell so she could view the scene quite clearly. One man (the one who usually guarded the door) stood behind Grima holding him upright, whilst two others with bloody knuckles stood before him panting. Grima’s bound hands meant that he had no way of defending himself against their blows. His face was a ruin. How much must he have had to endure to make him look that way? Blue black his pale flesh looked almost unrecognizable. Both of his eyes were swollen, she wondered if he could even see out of them. His nose was completely flattened to one side, his cheeks and chin were stained with blood, but most disturbingly of all was his jaw. It lay open, slack and unmoving as if it was dislocated from the rest of his skull. He could no more speak than he could stand on his own. As much as she hated to look upon it, she found that she could not look away. How could she have let this happen? A single tear fell.

“Set him down.” She commanded in a voice that betrayed no emotion. The men did as she asked without question.

She went to him. Placing a gentle hand either side of his head she tried to make him see her.

“It’s me, I’m here.” She spoke in a soft voice. He gargled in response.

She found her voice thickened with emotion. “His jaw, can you fix it?”

One man nodded and stepped forward. Grima shrank away as he approached, trying to shuffle closer to the wall, but she told him to not be afraid, that no one would hurt him as long as she was present. She moved her arms around him to keep him still. The man slipped his bloodied thumbs into Grima’s slack mouth and pressed down onto his lower teeth. He then cupped Grima’s chin with his other fingers and jerked his hands up. With a sickening pop the jaw clicked back into place. The guard wiped his fingers against his tunic and stepped away.

“Unbind his hands, leave the lanterns and go.” She whispered, and the three men did just that with their heads bowed.

Even though his hands were free he did not reach for her. The ropes had cut into his wrists and the tips of his fingers were blue. He sat propped, unmoving against the cell wall like a rag doll. Like some broken bloodied thing and not a man at all.

She wet a rag and sat beside him. With some effort he turned his head towards her and tried to speak. She shushed him.

Holding the cool damp cloth to his jaw, she eased him into a leaning position so that his head lay on her chest as she held the cold compress to his ruined face.

Now that they were alone more tears flowed, easier than before, more desperate than before. They were tears of shame and guilt, they were filled with the horror and disgust she felt at her own involvement in his agony. There were some tears for him too of course, tears of sympathy and of pity.

She held him as tight as she could without hurting him again.

“Oh please don’t speak Grima,” she begged, “don’t speak, don’t speak.”

She repeated this under her breath over and over for the hours that she sat there holding him. And she cried for them both.


	4. Night Four

That morning the decision to abandon Edoras was made by the King. Tomorrow the city would be empty and the people would make the slow and arduous journey to Helms Deep. There were no men available that day to extend Grima’s torment. All hands would be needed to shift supplies and ready the horses. Eowyn was spared applying to the King for mercy for the worm. Not that it would have made any difference, Theoden was very clear on Grima’s fate.

“He will be executed before the city is locked down. His death will serve as a message to those that might think to betray the crown. If time is against us on the morrow then he will be left to rot in that cell.”

Eowyn had not argued, she knew she had failed utterly in her Uncle’s eyes. She dare not hope that he would ever willingly let her defend her people now.

Her hands had been kept busy all day packing up the palace essentials and securing bundles to the caravan of horses. After a while those working around her found other duties to perform and peeled off one by one as the day drew longer. The moment she was alone she slipped away quietly to the quartermaster’s post. She found it empty, as she had expected, and retrieved what she needed with ease- the keys to the prison cells.

She did not look out of place carrying a bundle of supplies through the palace, and with the quartermaster’s keys tucked safely in her pocket she entered the crypt quickly and without any fuss. There were no guards posted, everyone was busy with the task at hand, and so there was no one to stop her reaching the cell.

She tried four keys before the click of the lock yielded. Slipping quietly into the cell she found that at least one of the lamps was still burning from the night before.

Grima was curled on the floor asleep wrapped in her shawl. The yellow light cast deep shadows across his pale face, but then those might have been bruises from his torture. She bent to him and shook his shoulder. To her surprise he jumped to life with a frightening speed. His freed hands seized her wrists and forced her backwards, slamming her back against the cell wall. His wiry strength had caught her off guard and the frenzied crash against the hard, icy cold wall had knocked the air out of her for a moment.

“Grima,” she struggled, “it’s me.” Her eyes stared into his wide with fear. It took a moment for him to fully acknowledge who she was but once he did he dropped her wrists immediately and crashed back down to the floor, exhausted.

“Forgive me,” he panted, “I thought you were one of them.”

“No one is coming today.” She assured him as she rubbed her wrists from where he had squeezed them. There might be bruises there tomorrow, but it was the least damage when compared to all that he had gone through.

“Saruman and Sauron have united,” he blurted out, “they want to destroy the world of men and take Middle Earth for themselves. Saruman is building an army, but I know not how large it is. I have not been to Isenguard for over a year when I first agreed to his schemes. He does not communicate his plans to me. This I would have told you yesterday if not for…This is all I know.”

He looked upon her and awaited her response.

“So, you know nothing.” She murmured, for she heard the truth in his words “Why did you not say so?”

“I did. From the first day to the last.”

Eowyn felt sick. Yes, of course he had. The man was a coward he would not have withheld the truth under torture. He had given his tormentors the truth on that first day but none of them had believed him.

“Grima I…I am sorry for your suffering.”

After a long silence she walked over to him and dropped her bundle before him. “Take this, you are free. Try not to be seen as you leave the city.”

“The King has not agreed to my freedom then.” He guessed as he took stock of the supplies.

“He signed your execution order. Would you rather face that?”

He shook his head and she turned to leave.

“Wait,” he called. She stopped but did not look back at him. She could not. “May I take this?”

She peered over her shoulder a fraction and saw that he was holding out her shawl with shaking hands.

She felt… something. Pity maybe? Revulsion or disbelief perhaps at the thought that the only devotion that she had ever seen evidence of from him was his steadfast desire to own her.

She nodded her consent and made for the door as he clung to the fabric with trembling fingers, like it was the most precious thing on earth.

“Tell me, my Lady.” his voice stopped her again, “Would I have ever made you happy?”

She did turn fully this time. Slowly she stood before him and looked him straight in his swollen eyes.

“No Grima,” her heart beat fast, “never.”

Eowyn left him kneeling in that dim yellow light. The only part of her he would ever possess- her shawl- was balled in his hands, his body was broken, and his heart was in tatters.

The End.


End file.
